


your pretty face is going to hell

by lost_decade



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Bahrain Grand Prix 2019, Flirting, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Hand Jobs, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 15:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/pseuds/lost_decade
Summary: “Does he remind you of me, is that it? Interesting.” Nico can’t keep the delight out of his voice.- Post-Bahrain sordidness





	your pretty face is going to hell

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly the result of a fever and too much cold medication. Although sassy Nico is always fun to write. 
> 
> Title from the song of the same name by The Stooges.

In the end it’s a fluke that sees them meeting after so many months of mutual avoidance. Nico pushes the door to the bathrooms open to find a dishevelled looking Charles exiting one of the cubicles, a rabbit in the headlights still buttoning his shirt, yet looking remarkably unflustered in the way that one does having spent their formative years being moulded to Monegasque perfection.

Nico admires the way the young driver doesn’t bat an eyelid, greeting him with the same poise as if they were running into each other at a black tie dinner in the Grimaldi Palace rather than a toilet in Bahrain International Airport. Only the way Charles hurries out of there gives Nico pause for thought, expecting that if he waits around a moment he’ll probably see Pierre leave the same cubicle, or one of the rookies, who knows.

He’s standing in front of the urinal mid-stream by the time the shuffling in the occupied toilet gives way to the cubicle door being pushed open, piss abruptly halting as he catches sight of Charles’ conquest in the mirror. Their eyes meet for a strange, suspended moment in the glass, a moment wherein Nico has to draw on all his extensive media training to not stare at the wet stain of semen decorating Lewis’ jeans when he notices it. He turns away, tucking his dick back into his Hugo Boss slacks with a little harrumph of _surprised but why should I expect any better of you,_ thankful for the reprieve it gives him to shake the shock from his expression.

“Don’t say anything,” Lewis warns as they both wash their hands, fingers brushing as they slip them below the automatic soap dispenser at the same time. Nico isn’t sure whether he means _to me_ or _to anyone else_.

“Not a word.” Nico dries his hands slowly on too many paper towels, leaning back against the pristine tiled wall studying Lewis carefully. He imagines he can smell Charles on him from the few feet separating them but it’s probably just wishful thinking.

“He’s attractive,” Nico muses, Lewis shaking his head at the immediate insolence. “Quite a sweet kid really.”

“He’s not a kid, he’s a Ferrari driver. And you were sweet once too,” Lewis snaps, swearing under his breath at the realisation he’s walked into the trap Nico had probably set for him.

“Does he remind you of me, is that it? Interesting.” Nico can’t keep the delight out of his voice. He takes a step closer, fascinated at how _caught_ Lewis looks, when a couple of years back he’d have just told Nico to go fuck himself and stormed out. His corn rows remind Nico of a crown and his fingers itch to touch the beautiful braiding, to trace down his spine and uncover any new ink he’s missed. He refrains. They are in a public place after all, in Bahrain no less. The recklessness of Lewis fucking Leclerc in an airport bathroom brings back a plethora of memories good and bad though, all of them thrilling in a way that sharing a space with no one else on earth is. Even now, even after everything.

“It’s nothing,” Lewis sighs, “he was upset.”

“I was upset after a lot of races and you never let me come all over your-” Nico peers around him trying to see the designer label on his jeans.

“They’re Balenciagas. For fuck’s sake, Nico. I let you do plenty.” Lewis scrubs at the marks on his jeans with his fingernails. “And it was nothing, okay. It was just a hand job, not that I need to justify myself to you.”

Nico has to suppress a laugh, moving Lewis to one side so he can open one of the cabinets beneath the sink, rooting around for a cloth and retrieving a cotton hand towel instead, ignoring Lewis’ puzzled look and wetting it, dropping to his knees in front of him and gently moving Lewis’ hand out of the way to rub the wet corner of the towel over the damp stains in a way that feels both parental and weirdly hot, being so close to Lewis’ cock. They’d probably look incredibly good together he thinks, Lewis and Charles, the two of them necking like the teenager that Leclerc not so long ago was. Or Lewis jerking Charles off with a hand pressed over his mouth to keep him quiet. He shivers, unable to resist running the palm of his hand over the crotch of Lewis’ jeans when he’s done with his task, stashing the towel back under the sink in a corner.

“There, much better. No one will have a clue.”

“Are you fucking done now?” Lewis mutters at him, gripping the front of Nico’s shirt and urging him to his feet. The motion eliminates the space that was previously between them, their noses bumping as Nico’s hands find Lewis’ waist, creeping beneath his shirt to touch the taut skin of his flanks. He ducks his head to whisper in Lewis’ ear.

“Does Vettel know?” Nico teases, teeth nipping at Lewis’ earlobe. He nuzzles along his jaw, relaxing when Lewis mirrors his hold.

“Fuck off, there’s nothing to know,” Lewis bites at Nico's lip and then soothes over it with his tongue before, brushing their lips together. Nico opens his mouth to Lewis’ tongue. It feels satisfying, kissing him, _charged_. He makes a soft noise, pressing Lewis back against the sink and licking deeper into his mouth. It feels nice.

“God, I've missed this,” Nico admits between kisses, bucking his hips forward as Lewis reaches for his belt, murmuring his agreement.

Nico's instincts haven't dulled any since he quit racing though, and the first push of the door causes him to step back and turn to fiddle with his hair in the mirror nonchalantly. Lewis stares at him for a second before digging his phone out of his pocket, turning away.  
  
“Wow, some things don't change do they,” Sebastian says, looking between the two of them before turning to walk back out the way he came, muttering something under his breath as he lets the door swing shut behind himself.

“Some do,” Nico says to his back, ignoring the glare Lewis fixes him with.

The moment fizzles away, Nico glancing at his watch and realising he should probably head to the gate for his flight soon. He re-buckles his belt, kissing Lewis on the cheek even though the world champion tries to squirm away.

“Will you be in China?” Lewis asks casually, examining the drying water on his jeans.

Nico smiles, patting Lewis’ arse on his way out. “Definitely. I wouldn't miss seeing how this turns out.”

 


End file.
